Here's to Yesterday
by nutella and a pencil
Summary: All of a sudden he is yelling at her, and he has no idea what he's saying, and she is yelling back, and where in the world did the supposed Granger level-headedness go? They are shouting nonsense, and there is no one but themselves and the stars to hear it. For the HPFC All Year Long Competition.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: For the HPFC All Year Long competition.**

**I probably won't last too long, but that's okay.**

**word count: 1254**

**mandatory prompts: romantic pairing: Seamus/Lavender; Pirate AU; Genre: Romance; an old photograph; "There's a lit cigarette in the hand of my new angel."- Evans Blue, "Beg"**

**bonus prompts: too drunk to care; counting stars; an unusual phobia.**

**warnings: mentions of suicide but open to interpretation**

**rating: T**

**genre: romance/tragedy**

* * *

Water crashes against the sides of the ship, roaring and foaming.

The crew quickly gathers their weapons for the oncoming fight.

In the distance, a ship with tattered black sails steadily makes its way towards the _Hogwarts._

The crew unsheathe their knives, and swords, and ready their cannons.

He is fairly certain they won't make it, but fights anyways.

Lavender believes that they will make it, that they will fight and they will survive.

_{But, oops, she lied.}_

* * *

When their ship is boarded, there isn't really much they can do.

The battle is over in a flash.

The crew of the _Nagini_ easily overpowers them.

There is a burst of red, and glimmering steel, and explosions going off in the background as they are taken off their ship.

They push and they shove and the bite and they claw and they scratch, and they are still taken prisoner.

A tear falls from Lavender's eye, so quick he almost doesn't catch it, but then it is gone, mingling with the salty spray coming off the wild sea.

He is glad he is not the only one who is weak.

* * *

They are brought down into the hold, and are made to wait there for _hoursdaysweeks._

He's actually not entirely sure how long they'd been inside. He can only remember _dark damp, _hunger, the feel of his ribs through his tattered shirt, and the flash of Lav's bluish eyes.

It is a while until they are brought back to the main deck.

* * *

The shackles are heavy on their hands, and the chains on their feet restrict their movement, but they manage to stand in a line on the main deck.

Their leader, green eyes flashing with defiance is brought to his knees.

The captain of the ship, or Voldemort as he was called, was a tall bald man, pale as the moon, with a two slits where his nose should be (It is said he lost it to a shark. Voldemort lost his nose. The shark lost its life). His eyes were red like blood, and there was no spark in them. They were _deadcold_ lizard eyes, and that was probably the most unnerving thing about him.

The captain took a deep, rasping breath.

"_We have come today to silence one of our enemies. Foolish he may be, but he put up a good fight, so he should be proud that it is I who will kill him tonight."_

The amassed crew, in dark cloaks, with skull-like masks on their faces burst into applause.

A few laugh – well, cackle more like – and it is harsh and rough and everything a laugh shouldn't be.

Even Voldemort allows himself a thin-lipped smile.

"_Well, Harry Potter, any last words?_"

Harry spits in Voldemort's face.

"_Very well, then._"

Lav closes her eyes tight, and her brown hair tickles his shoulders.

He looks over and squeezes her hand tight.

Voldemort draws his knife, and then there is blood on the deck, and Harry's body lying limp on the ground.

"_Harry Potter is dead!_"

Again the smattering of applause, and the laughter.

The crew of the _Hogwarts_ stands, shackled, silent and broken.

* * *

They are allowed to remain in the hold, as prisoners, probably.

For what purpose, he doesn't know, and he thinks about it for days.

Thinking is pretty much all he is allowed to do.

It is a few days of being penned up here when the crew of the _Hogwarts_ begins to make plans.

Ginny, their de facto leader, wants to revolt.

Lav does too.

She still (somehow) has hope that they will get out of this.

So they secretly stash food and weapons during the short time they are allowed outside. They plan escape routes and learn about the ship's entrances and exits and rooms.

Neville is the first caught, and the first to die.

But he is not the last.

* * *

Finally, the day comes when they revolt.

Suffice it to say they won, but the blood will be harder to clean.

It feels as if he will never be free from the _thickstickyred _blood on his hands.

While they are pale in the candlelight, they still look red, bloodred.

It is only_ them_ who are left.

Him and Lav.

The killing finally broke her_._

While she stabbed and slashed and parried, she was slowly cutting off her own fluffy white angel wings.

She is no longer an angel, pure and untouched and forever happy and hopeful.

But she is still _his _angel.

But now, there is a cigarette in the hands of his angel, and the smoke wreathes around her like fog.

He smells it on her all the time now. Like lavender and burnt sage. _Funny, huh?_

{no, not really}

They used to sit in the crow's nest and count stars, every night, no matter how chilly.

Now she is afraid of coming outside, and she hides in the captain's cabin with her cigarettes and rum.

She is afraid of the light.

Her room is dark except for the faint light from the embers of her cigar, and sunlight coming from the crack under the door.

Smoke swirls through the crack and it always looks as if the room is on fire on the inside.

Once in a while, he sees the smoke and his heart jumps in his throat until he remembers.

When she does come outside, her eyes are more gray than blue and she shies from the lanterns like they're poison and she refuses to look at the stars.

When they are eating dinner, she still smells like smoke and cannot look him in the eye, instead staring at their reflections in the silverware.

* * *

She is drowning in smoke and mirrors.

(She always did believe in magic)

She drinks away her troubles in a glass too big to be called a shot, and tries to forget everything.

The deaths, the murder, the blood.

He almost can't take it.

He can't stand to see the beautiful, delicate, untouched angel of a girl (that he may or may not be in love with) turned into a dump of a woman, who is still beautiful, but whose wings are clouded with smoke and is wonderfully, horribly mortal.

And then it happened.

She finds the picture.

It is of them.

They are happy and dancing and it is faded and old, and it may not even be a memory just something from a dream. In the picture they are smiling. He is twirling her around the dance floor, and her feet can't seem to touch the ground. They are still untouched by war and death and blood.

In a fit of rage, {at herself, at him, who knows?}, she smashes her bottle into her case of belongings.

The music starts then.

It is beautiful and delicate and gentle.

Her eyes shine with tears.

He takes her hand.

And they dance in the memories of all those who have died, in smoke and broken glass, and beautiful tiptoeing music. The glass cuts her feet, and the drip-drops of red mingle with the dust and dirt.

She is too drunk to care.

And in that moment, they are just _Seamus and Lavender_, and they are both wonderfully, wonderfully immortal and their feet don't touch the ground.

* * *

A few days later, the wind near the crow's nest whistles around their thin bodies, and the cold breeze bites at their still healing scars. And all of a sudden they are wonderfully, wonderfully mortal and their feet don't touch the ground.

* * *

_{Oops, they died}_


	2. Chapter 2

**All year long competition, HPFC, Round 2**

**Mandatory prompts: Romantic Pairing, Quote, Style, Spell, Setting (and emotion, sort of, but not really)**

**Bonus: All.**

**I also combined this with the Pairing Diversity Boot Camp...so...yeah.**

**Prompt for _that: _Love hurts**

* * *

You used to watch her at school.

No, you didn't actually follow her around, but you could still see her from the corner from her eye.

Her with thick black hair, and mysterious gray eyes.

You obsessed over her.

Sometimes you thought she stared back, silver eyes meeting with your own brown ones.

But it was gone in a second, and it couldn't possibly have been real.

Your heart was playing with your brain.

You always had an active imagination.

But still you stared at her, beautiful with the sun shining in her dark hair, delicate features and porcelain skin, and pretended that she noticed you as much as you noticed her.

She was beautiful like a glass statue, one you can look at but cannot touch.

You knew she would be the death of you.

* * *

It didn't help that the Gryffindors and Slytherins had so many classes together.

How that made sense, you would never understand.

But the worst part was that now it was impossible to ignore her.

You could avoid her in all other places, but in class?

Impossible.

* * *

You realized you loved her in fifth year, during charms class.

* * *

They were reviewing Cheering Charms that day.

The teacher was old and snobby, and liked to sleep during their class.

The professor somehow didn't get the memo that they had done Cheering Charms in second year, and the class had burst with groans and complaints that the charm was for babies and that she should do something else.

You wish with all your heart she had.

* * *

You saw her laugh for the first time that day.

She was sitting on the opposite side of the room you were on, behind her partner, Frank.

You could tell he liked you with his stuttering and blushing and awkwardness.

You felt bad that you were slowly breaking his heart.

But still you ignored him and stared at the unattainable girl laughing across the room.

You loved her more.

* * *

You remember flashes of bright white teeth and thick, long, blackbird lashes.

You remember gray eyes sparkling with happiness.

You remember a sound that made your heart thud faster.

You think you can feel the cracks starting to form on your heart.

* * *

The class was loud with the sound of raucous laughter and unrestrained chuckles.

But you still think you can hear the sound of two hearts shattering.

* * *

It has been years, many, many years since that day.

You should have gotten over her.

You have lovely, handsome Frank, who loves you unconditionally.

You have had plenty of boyfriends.

There are many, many people who you could have the potential to love.

But you love her all the same.

* * *

They were just children when they joined a war.

We all were.

And somehow we still thought we would make it, that we were invincible, indestructible.

Unbreakable.

{but you knew that was false, didn't you? But you fought just the same}

You always were a fool.

* * *

The Order had decided on a mission to the Ministry of Magic to see if there were any Aurors on their side left.

It was quite a dangerous mission.

After all, it was common knowledge that the Ministry was overrun by Death Eaters.

It was also common knowledge that not everyone would make it.

{you didn't know there were things worse than death}

* * *

You are captured inevitably, by a figure in a sweeping robe and a cruel, glinting mask.

At least you would die saving your friends.

But no, poor, sweet, brave Frank had to follow.

You curse love and all its stupidity.

It causes nothing but pain.

* * *

You are brought into a room, alone. The room is filled by a large desk with papers scattered all around it.

Parchment drifts to the floor, and the room smells musty and damp.

The figure raises its wand.

You close your eyes, and hope and pray it will be quick.

And then, because you feel selfish, you pray for Frank too.

The figure, with a flick of a wand, removes the mask and places it on the desk.

You gasp, quietly.

It is her.

She is still beautiful and cold and deadly and her hair curls at the tips and her eyes are cold and warm and alive.

She is beautiful like a panther, dark and smooth and deadly.

She will still be the death of you.

* * *

There are hours and hours of pain and shouts of 'CRUCIO!' and bursts of cold greenish light.

Somehow you don't mind it, because it is her who is doing it.

It still hurts. You can feel it.

But you are _Alice Longbottom_ and you are better than this. Stronger, even.

You are still not broken.

You will never _be _broken.

{It's long past time you stop lying to yourself, Alice}

* * *

After a few hours or days or weeks, she stops.

She simply watches you.

You quiver and squirm beneath her gaze.

She idly twirls her wand and stares at you through half-lidded eyes.

"You know, I always saw you watching."

You draw in a breath. She cannot _possibly, possibly _mean what you think she does.

"I know you watched me."

"It wasn't all that hard to tell."

She draws closer, still twirling her wand.

"You really have no talent for subtlety, Alice dear."

She comes closer, too close, her face near inches from yours.

You try to move back, but you are against the desk and there isn't anywhere to go.

You aren't entirely sure if you want to go.

Her eyes are silver and they are glinting with amusement.

You should be angry. You should want to wipe that _stupid, stupid _half-smile off her face.

But it is all you can do to keep breathing, because she is _so, so _close, and you want to reach for her, but you don't want to give her the satisfaction.

She leans forward and presses her lips to yours.

It is wonderful and searing and _perfect_.

But you are burning, burning from the inside, and she is destroying you, lighting your heart on fire, and you don't care because you have wanted this for so long.

You half-heartedly scrabble for things on the desk, anything, anything to use, because you don't want to go down without a fight.

You find an ink bottle, and grip it tightly, so, so tightly, it shatters in your hands, and there are tiny, tiny cuts all over your fingers, and you still don't care, because you love her, you love her too much.

You tug on her hair with ink-stained fingers and pull her closer, and she smells like faded rose petals and something rich and bitter.

And all of sudden, the fire grows stronger, and it is breaking your heart open and burning through the cracks.

You take a deep breath, and you pull away, because one, you need to breathe, and two, it is all _so, so _wrong.

And the worst part is, you don't even mind.

You gasp out in little breaths, and push her away with your black-blue fingers.

There are ink stains all over her face, and she is still beautiful.

"I-I need – a – m-minute"

She pulls away, and with a flick of her wand, the mask is back on her face.

"I'm sorry, Alice darling, a minute is far too long."

She turns around and leaves the room, hair flying behind her, little bits of paper fluttering around her robe like moths to a flame.

She always did have some sort of attraction.

She leaves without looking back.

* * *

The room is silent except for the crackling of paper.

You can hear your heart start to break.

* * *

**Note: It says _Alice Longbottom _instead of whatever her maiden name was, because at this point she is married to Frank. (and had Neville, I assume)**

**Because this is the point where they go nutso, and they can't have a baby while they're out of their minds, because that doesn't make sense...**

**Yup.**

**I don't even know.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Third Round in the All Year Long Competition.**

**I think the date has been extended a week, so I don't have to use an extension, but I don't really know.**

**But anyways,**

**Prompts: Platonic Pairing: Rose and Hugo; Dialogue: 'Don't be so modest'; Action: a character must buy some sort of sweet ; Word: stranger; Word Count (with 20 word leeway): 2,139**

**Word Count: (without the Author's Note) 2,153 (cutting it close, with that one)**

**Bonus Prompts: a character must quote a famous poet; ice; tension; "Merlin, you're boring."; a brand new pair of roller skates**

**Warnings: None, really. I suppose a tiny bit of Scorose, but you could replace Scorpius for whoever you want, if you like. Rated T because kangaroos are evil and they start with K.**

**By the way, the quote is: All you need is ignorance and confidence and the success is sure, by Mark Twain. He did write poems. And he's famous. So he fits the category.**

* * *

'Godammit, Hugo.'

A tall ginger teen leans against the edge of the ice skating rink. He shakes his head slightly and his face is plastered with a smug grin.

A woman shakes her frizzy hair out of her face to glare at the boy.

'Oh, shut up.'

* * *

'Rose! The train is leaving!'

A short red-haired girl runs up to her mother.

She gently adjusts the child's jumper, and whispers, 'You'll be fine.'

The child pushes herself away and runs up to the platform where her cousins are boarding the Hogwarts Express.

A little boy stands in front of his dad, wearing a bright red and green beanie.

His father ruffles his hair, shoving his beanie over his eyes.

'I wish_ I_ could go to Hogwarts.'

He pouts a bit and shoves his beanie back up.

'Why does Rosie get to go, and I don't?'

'You'll go next year, sweetie.'

The little boy refuses to be pacified and crosses his arms.

A frazzled mother runs up to them.

'The train is leaving! Come _on, _Ron! You don't want to miss your daughter's first ride on the Hogwarts Express!'

The family hurries to the front of the platform, just as the train is about to leave.

The little boy just catches a glimpse of red hair and a pink tongue flashed in his direction.

He simply shoves his beanie over his eyes and scowls.

* * *

'Hey, Rose.'

She is lounging on an armchair, with a book open in her lap.

'Go away, Hugo.'

'But you said-'

'Can't you see I'm _trying _to study?'

'But today you said you would—'

'I've got to finish my schoolwork, Hugo!'

'Summer break ends in a _whole month!_'

'What's your point?'

The eleven year old rolls his eyes.

'Merlin, you're boring, Rosie.'

'Don't call me that.'

The boy grabs the book out of the girl's hands and hides it behind his back.

'Godammit, what do you _want?_'

'You said you would teach me how to skate today!'

'What, with those?'

'Well, yes.'

'Those are for _roller skating, _dummy!'

'Oh...' The boy raises his voice, 'How was I supposed to know that! I don't know what Muggle ice skates look like!'

The unopened wrapping on the skates is starting to rip by the time it falls to the floor.

The older girl chuckles and ruffles the boy's hair. His beanie, now discoloured and been fixed too many times to count, is now lopsided on his head.

'Oh, you idiot. And take that beanie off.'

She punches him lightly on the arm.

He scowls slightly and rubs his arm, but still follows her when she leads him up to her room so he can borrow a pair of skates.

* * *

It is Rose's last year in Hogwarts, and she passed with flying colours and admission in many top Wizarding universities.

The whole Weasley and Potter families were there, some grudgingly, like James, who had missed his Quidditch practice and kept muttering about how his coach would kill him, others had marked this on their calendar for months like Hermione, who was congratulating Rose frantically, and hugging her so tight she could barely breathe.

'Congrats, Rose! What university are you planning on going to? You've got tons of options…'

'Great job, Rosie! Does this mean you'll suck up to your professors so that _I _can get into the Curse Breaker's?'

'Rose, honey, great work! You're probably the smartest one out of all of us! …but don't tell Hermione I said that…'

'Thanks Aunt Ginny, but really, I didn't do all that much…'

'Don't be so modest, darling, you deserve it!'

Hugo just shoves his hands into his pockets and sulks, but when it's his turn to congratulate Rose, he hugs her all the same.

'Good job, Rosie.'

She smiles teasingly at him.

He whispers into her ear while hugging her.

'Now don't get a big head about it.'

She elbows him in the ribs.

* * *

When it is his turn to graduate, he gets decent marks, and nothing below an Acceptable. He's only gotten into the Healer's Academy in Dublin, but he only ever wanted to be a healer, anyways.

His beanie has been reborn into mittens, as it had fallen apart years ago, and he had worn them despite the unreasonably warm weather.

They clashed horribly with his formal robes, but he could care less.

_His_ congratulations are less profuse, and his mother seems a bit disappointed, but Rose comes up to him, and gives him a tight hug.

Her hair tickles his face as she whispers into his ear, and he has a startling moment of déjà vu. 'Don't worry about it Hugh, Mum'll come around eventually. _I _for one am proud of you. Who'd a thought an idiot like you would have gotten into Edgecombe's? '

'Oh, stuff it, Rose'

They pull away, and he tries to tell with his eyes that he's actually grateful for her words.

But he'd never tell _her _that.

* * *

Rose ends up with a desk job at the Ministry, to her mother's chagrin.

She works her way up to a high post, but Hermione hasn't had great experiences with the Ministry.

Hugo goes to Edgecombe's. He is away for five years, and they try to keep in touch, but five years strains every relationship, even among family.

* * *

When the Weasleys are reunited, it is tight and awkward, and you could cut the tension with a knife. They eat dinner rather fast and return to their rooms.

He fiddles with his brand-new mittens, and she fingers the ring on her finger.

He picks up a parcel in his suitcase and makes as if to walk out the door. He returns to his bed several times, debating whether to leave or not. Taking a deep breath, he forces himself out the door.

* * *

She is startled when she hears him at the doorway.

She recollects herself, and says, 'Well, hello, stranger.'

He chuckles and it is deep, and he is not the boy he was when he left.

He glances at the parcel in his hand, and all of a sudden he is nervous, scratching the back of his neck with those god-awful blue mittens.

He looks young and seventeen again, and it is a relief.

'Um, hey Rose,'

'Er..I know you liked those Acid Pops they used to sell on the trollies, so I bought you some on the way home…so, um, here.'

He places them quickly in her hand, and he looks so embarrassed she can't bear to tell him it was the Sugar Quills she adored in her second year.

He cuts his gaze between her and the door before leaving without looking back.

* * *

She goes back to touching the ring on her finger, a light silver band with an emerald in the center.

The stone is rough in her hand, and she is reminded of all the things she didn't tell her brother.

This time she is the one taking a deep breath and opening the door.

* * *

He is fiddling with the wheels on an old pair of skates when she enters.

His head lifts and he looks startled, like someone caught him with his hand in the cookie jar, but he recovers quickly.

'Um, hey Rose, I was wondering if you wanted to-'

'I have to tell you something.'

His finger freezes on the first wheel, because she seems nervous. She is never nervous.

They are silent for a moment, and she is making no move to speak, except for constantly playing with a ring on her finger. It catches the light coming from his wand, and makes it sparkle in a million shades of green.

He cannot bear the silence.

'Hey, is that a ring, Rose? Where did you get it?'

As if there was ever any doubt that it was a ring. He never was any good with small talk.

He falls silent again, because he doesn't want to make more of a fool of himself than he already has.

* * *

She tries to shake herself out of her reverie.

_Rose, you idiot! He asked you a question!_

She looks back at him, because for the life of her she can't figure out what he had asked.

He has gone back to fiddling with his skates.

She blurts out, 'You wanna go skating?'

* * *

It is cold at the skating rink, and the sky is dark and peppered with stars.

It is too late at night for anyone in their right minds to be out here.

But who ever said they were in their right minds?

Hugo is dancing circles around her, while she is trying not to fall.

So different than the way it was the first time they went to this skating rink, where _he _was the one struggling to stand, and _she _was the one showing off.

Her skates seem more flimsy than ever before.

It has been years since she has last been here.

Hugo sees her stumbling and tripping over her skates, and gently steadies her, before going to the edge of the rink to watch her try and fail.

'Godammit, Hugo.'

He is chuckling from the rink's edge. She can see him with that smug, irritating smile that she no doubt had the last time they were here.

'Oh, shut up.'

She tries to take a few steps, but ends up falling to her feet.

'C'mon, help me here!'

'I'm sure you'll get it _eventually…_'

'After all, all you need is ignorance and confidence and success is sure…'

'You read Mark Twain?'

'Who in Merlin's name is Mark Twain?'

She shakes her head, and tries to lift herself up, but slips on the ice once more.

Hugo skates over to her and offers her a hand.

'Just lean on the railing, you'll be fine.'

She makes her way to the railing, and grabs hold for dear life.

'So, what was it you wanted to tell me?'

She hesitates for a minute; she had been hoping he had forgotten, but then all her words come out in a rush, and he can barely understand what she is saying.

'I'm engaged to Scorpius Malfoy, Hugo, the wedding'll be in a few months, and he proposed two weeks ago, we've been dating for ages, and I'm sorry I didn't tell you before!'

'Wait a minute, Rose. So you're engaged…to Scorpius Malfoy…?'

His voice grows softer and darker as he speaks.

'Yes…'

'And the wedding will be in April?'

'May, to be specific.'

'And you didn't tell me?'

He is silently angry, and she can tell he's mad. He doesn't blow up like he usually does, but his voice grows tighter as he continues speaking.

'So, how long exactly has this been happening?'

'Four years, Hugo.'

'Okay…'

'So when you told me that you weren't dating anyone, you were lying?'

'Yes.'

Her voice grows softer, and she is speaking more to herself than him.

He crumples to the ground, and slowly says, 'Okay.'

They sit in silence for a few pensive minutes.

It feels like hours.

'Any other bombs you wanna drop? Are you secretly a Death Eater, Rose?'

'Don't call me that.'

'What? _Rose_? It's your name isn't it?'

'Just, don't'

'You used to hate it when I called you Rosie.'

'Not really.' She whispers it under her breath, and it hangs like a puff of smoke in the air.

'Well then, _Rosie, _anything else you need to say?'

He's being mean and he knows it. It hurts, being lied to. He's been lied to quite a bit.

* * *

All of a sudden he is yelling at her, and he has no idea what he's saying, and she is yelling back, and where in the world did the supposed Granger level-headedness go?

They are shouting nonsense, and there is no one but themselves and the stars to hear it.

It's probably better that way.

* * *

The night has wound down, and the edge of the sky is turning pink by the time they are done shouting.

They are walking companionably back to the house, talking about nothing, and everything all at the same time.

He musses her hair, and she playfully tries to shove him away. He doesn't even flinch.

'When did you grow so tall?'

'I was always taller than you, Rosie, you just must have shrunk…'

'Put a sock in it…'

He shoves her hat down on her head.

'Stop it!'

'I've gotta get you back for all those other times you used to do that to _me!_'

'Speaking of old times, go wear those stupid old mittens of yours. Those ones are horrible.'

'Bu-bu-but…I thought…'

He fake-pouts, sticking out his lower lip in a comic expression of petulance.

He bursts out laughing, and doubles over.

She starts to laugh too.

* * *

And then they are both laughing at nothing at all, and there is no one but themselves and the rising sun to hear it.

It's probably better that way.


End file.
